9 Crimes
by reconnoiterer
Summary: On a follow up trip to Spain Leon finds himself mixed up in the next stage of Umbrella's quest for a plaga sample. Leon/OFC
1. Chapter 1

Spain was the last place Leon S. Kennedy ever expected to find himself again. In fact, he had planned on avoiding it at all costs for the remaining duration of his life, but it would appear the higher ups of the U.S. Government had a sense of humor after all – albeit a sick one. He could picture perfectly the smug smile on Stewart's chubby little face as he handed him the folder with his new assignment.

"Since you're so interested in the Los Illuminados follow up, Big Brother's decided you may as well go over there and answer your own damn questions. Your flight leaves tomorrow at 9 o'clock Kennedy." _What a fucking bastard_.

Absently drumming his fingers on the folding table in front of him Leon had to admit his trip was faring a lot better this time around: nary a zombie or brainwashed maniac in sight. Sure this room looked straight out of 1975, his legs were getting stiff from being so forcefully folded into the tiny chair, and he'd showed up 10 minutes early for an appointment which was now running 20 minutes late, but if this was as bad as it got, he figured he could handle it.

It would almost be a vacation, except Leon S. Kennedy, right hand man of the President of the United States of America, doesn't take vacations. It's not that he doesn't earn them, he just wouldn't know what to do with all that spare time. Vacations are what normal people use to catch up with family, clean out the garage, maybe travel somewhere exotic. But Leon feels more and more isolated from 'normal people' with each mission he takes on. He hates phoning his parents because he can't stand the concern in their voices, he's never home long enough to mess anything up, and his work already takes him plenty of exotic places. So he works, and the more he works, the harder it is for him to stop.

The nervous, twisting feeling in his gut had been a constant and unwelcome surprise on this trip. There was still something about this whole country that put him on edge. It was something about the weather, the smell, the way the Spanish language rolled off some people's tongues in passing conversation. Madrid was miles away from that dumpy little backwater village and he still felt ready to blow someone's head off every time a door slammed. He couldn't wait to get back to the States, even if it did mean dealing with that snot-nosed punk Stewart. The sooner he could get back to a real assignment, the better.

The door opened suddenly, admitting his appointment in a flustered whirlwind of apologies, vellum and striking red hair. He stood, his friendliest, least uncomfortable smile plastered to his face, and shook her proffered hand.

"Agent Kennedy, I must apologize for keeping you waiting so long. We had a small flood in the storage facility this morning and I had to-"

"Don't worry about it. It gave me a chance to admire the lovely collection of mid to late twentieth century pre-fab furniture displayed here. And please, call me Leon; there's something about 'Kennedy' that makes me feel like I'm about to be assassinated." He smiled again and she flushed sweetly, relieved if not mollified.

"Then call me Lise, it's nice to finally meet you," she said, seating herself across from him at the table, a mountain of books and documents strewn in front of them. She looked exactly as he'd expected a Government contracted researcher to: long, low-maintenance hair style, modest, demure clothing, almost unnaturally pale skin from spending so many hours inside under artificial lighting, and entirely terrified of spending the next hour or two in a cramped little room with a guy like him. "I brought a selection of the documents I've already looked over. There's a couple of crates of artifacts in storage but I didn't bother bringing any up, I didn't think you'd be interested. It's mostly goblets, candelabras and the like, but I can send down for some of the more noteworthy pieces if you would like."

"No, this will be fine thank you," he thumbed through one of the newer looking volumes, noting the graphic illustrations with disgust. "Were you able to find out any information on the donor?"

"Unfortunately not, most of this was all donated anonymously," she shook her head, picking up a large leather-bound volume, or at least Leon hoped it was leather. Something in her tone perked his interest; she was suspicious, and he could agree; in his experience the members of Los Illuminados weren't exactly the anonymous charity type. "It's strange though, the acquisition dates range from hundreds of years ago to just a few months, you'd think someone would have at least wanted a tax receipt somewhere along the line. Everything is real gold, silver, jewel-encrusted… ugly as all Hell, but expensive. I ran those names you sent me, but absolutely nothing came up." Leon nodded, flipping the file folder he'd been skimming through back onto the table. Well, no use beating around the bush for much longer, he didn't fly across the ocean just to find out that a bunch of unbalanced fanatics didn't want a tax refund. She may be here to put together a nice polished report on the historical significance of Los Illuminados, but he was here to find out why the museum was currently holding on to its own _plaga_ sample. Some things you just had to see for yourself, especially when your own people were keeping you out of the loop.

"What about the specimen sample in the collection? Who donated that?" their eyes locked across the table and she managed to send a fairly impressive glare his way.

"I wouldn't know. It hasn't been accessioned yet and since my security clearance was capped I can only access information that's in the museum's database," she crossed her arms. Leon smiled inwardly; she was refreshingly feisty for a bookworm. So often these research types were as dull as the encyclopedia-thick reports they seemed to enjoy mass-producing. "Don't insult me. If you know so much about it, why don't you tell me where it came from, because I have been kept in the dark ever since it arrived."

"I know that this museum is sitting on what could be the next bubonic plague and they're certainly keeping their mouths shut about it when, under their mandate, they don't even collect live specimens."

"I don't know what you want me to say," she shrugged, a pink colour creeping up her neck again, "I thought we were on the same page here, let alone the same team." She looked away, gathering the scattered reports from the table. This was exactly why he stuck to blowing things up instead of trying to reason with them; he always picked the wrong time to say the wrong thing.

"Look," he reached out and put a hand on the stack of papers she was organizing, "I apologize if I insulted you – this really isn't my forte. If you would tell me what you do know, I would really appreciate it."

"The sample came in a couple of months ago from some village up north. It was just shoved in the corner of a crate with a bunch of other artifacts. I'm only here on contract with the Feds so no one tells me anything, but they've been even quieter than usual about this thing. The curator had it sent away for some kind of testing, but it's back now. Considering how important everyone keeps telling me this thing is, I'm surprised it's taking them so long to process it into their collection. That's all I know, I swear." Leon nodded, he had a feeling the reason it was taking them so long was because someone was planning on taking possession of it long before it ever got that far into the process.

"Do you know anything about the village it came from? Ever been there?"

"No thanks, these books are all I need to keep me awake at night."

A loud crash from the hallway had them both out of their seats in an instant. Voices could be heard yelling over panicked screams and Leon felt a surge of adrenaline, his senses heightening.

"Stay here and get down," His mind switched gears automatically as he attempted to take control of the situation, pulling his magnum out of its holster under his suit jacket. He hadn't left home without it after his return from Spain the first time around.

"How did you get that in here?" Lise asked, her eyes wide and suspicious. Another crash sounded in the building and Leon moved instinctively, diving over the table and covering her body with his own as an explosion shook the foundation. Debris fell from the ceiling and glass shattered in from the door window, littering the floor while smoke began pouring in through the cracks in the now off-kilter doorframe.

Leon's body was hard and warm above her, sheltering her, his features concerned as he asked her something she could hardly make out over the ringing in her ears and the shrieking alarms.

"Are you okay?" she managed to make out, half hearing, half lip-reading. Lise nodded, still stunned as he helped her to her feet. They were both covered in dust, the books and papers strewn across the floor with the table and chairs. She clutched his arm, still a little unsteady on her feet,

"The sample –"

"I know. Do you know where it is?" Leon coughed, the air quality was deteriorating rapidly; they wouldn't have much time before the building was either consumed by flames or collapsed.

"The basement," she nodded, "because of the flood it's not in the storage facility." Leon nodded, he could feel the familiar, if unnatural, calm that always accompanied him on missions these days settle in. _Leon S. Kennedy: worst luck in the fucking world_ he thought to himself as she led him to the back door of the room and into an empty hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

The back passages of the museum were a safe haven compared to the chaos going on just a few offices over. Leon didn't know exactly who was after the sample this time, Umbrella, some cult revivalist, or someone entirely different, but whoever they were they weren't taking any chances. Gunshots and the subsequent screams could be heard with decreasing intensity as he followed Lise deeper into the bowels of the building. They'd gone down at least three flights of stairs, all blissfully empty so far – the stairwell apparently had no access to the outside where the rest of the employees and patrons were fleeing. Lise stopped short in front of an electronically sealed door and reached a shaking hand into her skirt pocket for her keycard. There were no sounds of a fight from beyond the door which, as far as he could surmise, was either a very good sign, or a very, very bad one. Leon grabbed her wrist, her arm trembling, before she could pass the card over the reader,

"I want you to wait here until I call for you, alright?" she nodded, clearly none too eager to run headlong into the basement of a burning building swarming with terrorists. He couldn't blame her.

"Do you honestly think you stand a chance against them?" he could hear the skepticism, the panic creeping into her voice. He himself had forgotten what it was like to really, truly, be afraid, to not have to deal with this kind of bullshit on a regular basis, and so the human body's physical reactions to fear had begun to fascinate him. He turned her to face him, gripping her arms in what he hoped was a gesture of reassurance. She was holding up well, for now, the adrenaline coursing through her system keeping her alert, and out of hysterics. But Leon knew all it would take was one small false move and everything would come crashing down on them both along with the building.

"I do this for a living, remember? We're on the same side here, just like you said, and I need your help to get that sample. When we're all safe we can figure out what to do with it, alright? But I need you to stay calm for now, okay?" She nodded, seeming to draw off some of his confidence. Internally his guts felt like they'd been through a blender before being poured back into him. He was cocky, but he wasn't stupid. He was good, but he was only one man. _Worst luck in the fucking world_ he grumbled again to himself. "Good. Now after you open the door I want you to wait here and keep the door open while I make sure the coast is clear – is the storage room left or right?"

"Right. There should be two guards but who knows now after the explosions," she said as passed the card over the reader and the lock released with an audible click. The hallway was dim, and thankfully, if eerily, empty. The guards were either total amateurs, paid off, or already dead. The walls, lit with emergency lights, were reinforced steel with windows every couple of feet looking into offices and storage rooms. Shards of glass creaked under his boots from where several had shattered under the stress of the explosion. If the blast had been that intense they needed to get in and as soon as possible. He motioned for her to follow when he reached a fairly nondescript door with a disproportionately intricate electronic lock. She picked her way over the glass, her high heels, which, Leon had to admit, did wonders for her legs, not giving her much traction across the broken points.

"I don't know if my card will work on this thing," she said as she swiped it through the reader.

"It'll work," he said bluntly, watching for movement either way down the hallway. She punched in a few numbers on the keypad, quietly swearing so vehemently under her breath that Leon had to smirk; she had quite the repertoire for a bookworm. The door mercifully unlocked with a loud _beep_ and opened into a tiny dark room. It appeared to have been a storage room at one point, revamped somewhere along the line to temporarily store potential biological weapons. Lise flicked on a light near the door and worked her way to the back of the room where an expensive looking stainless steel case was supported on a cart. She opened the latches quickly; inside lay only a single tube holding an all too familiar purple substance, an almost fully formed _plaga_ suspended within.

Suddenly things became too quiet; Leon could hear the blood pounding in his head, felt bile rising in the back of his throat. She hesitantly reached for it, pulling the tube out of its protective padding. Instantly the _plaga_ went wild, hammering itself against the side of the tube, hungry for the warmth it could sense just beyond. Leon felt all the muscles in his chest contract, remembering the pain of the fully formed parasite that had once thrived there.

"It's still alive," Leon whispered, swallowing thickly.

"It must be over two hundred and fifty years old," she said as they both stared mesmerized by the flurry of activity within, "it's been alive all of this time, just waiting."

"We, uh, need to get it out of here," he shook his head, clearing away the not nearly distant enough memories to focus again in the moment. She held the twitching sample out of him and he took an involuntary step back. Being this close it he could feel that familiar struggle against his internal organs all too vividly. "You better hang on to that for me, I can be pretty clumsy and I'd hate to drop it."

She was about to insist that it was his brainiac idea to take it in the first place so he could damn well carry his own parasite sample when she saw something in his expression behind the weak humor. It was something in his eyes deeper than anything she'd seen beyond genuine interest all day; even after the gunshots and explosions this guy was cool as ice. All that and he didn't bat an eyelash but bring this _thing_ within 3 feet and those pretty blue eyes were flashing fire like all hell had broken loose.

"Okay, but I can't just be seen walking out with this thing, it's bad enough that they'll be able to track my card as the one that opened the –" a sudden shuffling at the end of the hallway caught their attention and she stuffed the sample in the pocket of her skirt. Nestled against her the _plaga_ was having a field day, slamming itself against what she hoped was the thick, sturdy, impenetrable side of the tube.

"Stay behind me until I get out of the door. Make a break for the stairwell we came through as fast as you can – I'll be right behind you."

She nodded once and he opened the door a crack and peered down the hallway. It was one of the museum guards, approaching from the far end of the hallway, a TMP slung around his chest. The other guard was closer, the door to the stairwell separating them. They appeared to be taking their time, checking each of the rooms for survivors/witnesses as they made their way toward the storage room. Lise waited until the closer guard stepped into the next room before bolting into the hallway, the clack of her heels on the floor attracting the attention of the TMP-wielding guard. As the man turned, Leon used his full weight to tackle him to the ground, wrestling the gun away from him. The guard was well trained but inexperienced; he fought back with all the creativity of a textbook. He landed a solid hit to Leon's jaw, splitting his lip against his teeth while they struggled on the floor.

Over the sounds of combat, a shriek pierced the air before it was sharply cut off. Leon grabbed the guard by the hair, smashing his head against the concrete floor until the man's grip went slack. He stripped the guard of his gun and ran for the stairwell, slamming the door open with his weight. Lise was on the floor, the other guard straddling her, one hand wrapped around her neck as he searched her for the sample with the other. She was thrashing like a fish out of water, pummeling and scratching the man as she writhed beneath him. Leon pulled the guard off, taking the man by surprise, and threw him to the floor on the other side of the stairwell. Somewhat stunned, the guard struggled to his knees and Leon landed a couple hard kicks to the man's ribs before grabbing the guard's head in the crook of his elbow and pulling sharply, effectively breaking his neck.

Lise had half scrambled, half crawled back out into the hallway, her shins and knees painfully grating along the broken glass and other debris on the floor. She propped herself up against the wall, her breath coming in panicked gasps and her hands clutching her own bruised throat. She'd never felt so close to death in her life. In the span of a few minutes life had become a nightmare, flashing forward at break neck speed while her brain sluggishly tried to make sense of what was happening. It felt like she was living via satellite, experiencing everything through a two second time delay. She just wanted to live, to get out, to run home and hide and not come out until absolutely necessary.

But it could never be that simple. The hard cylinder of the sample in her pocket and the dead guard down the hallway could attest to that. His glassy eyes were boring into her from where he lay in a dark pool of his own blood, his mouth slack and open. Neither of them would be going home anytime soon. A calm, cryptic resignation settled over her as she stared at the mangled guard. He had met his fate at the hands of Leon Kennedy, the same man - the same hands - she was now forced to put her own life into.

Lise had managed to get her breathing back under control as Leon crouched down beside her. The alarmed sounds of emergency could still be heard from above, although at a much lower frequency now.

"He's dead," her voice was raspy, red welts visible on her neck. Leon felt his blood pressure rise; there was something about damsels in distress that really got his dander up. Claire Redfield had said it was his 'knight in shining armor' complex, but looking at the young man's corpse and the fearful reaction of the woman next to him certainly didn't make him feel particularly gallant.

"I know," he wondered if this was the first time she'd ever seen a dead body, it certainly seemed to be. Leon couldn't remember the first dead body he'd seen anymore, he'd seen so many that they had eventually just become one giant, goretastic, blur. At some point all the blood and bone fragments and entrails had stopped affecting him; it was a necessary mechanism in his line of work. Having moved in such closed circles for so many years he'd almost forgotten that there were still people in the world affected by that kind of thing.

"You killed him," she looked at him for the first time, her eyes full of accusations. He realized how it must seem: his leading her down here, killing both the guards, and taking the sample, but he didn't have the time to explain.

"Yes," he had stopped apologizing at some point as well. The Government paid people to write apologies on behalf of people like him. He took her hand and gently guided her to her feet, wrapping an arm around her and guiding her back to the stairwell, up the stairs and out the emergency exit. Despite the harsh look in her eye she went willingly, even leaning into him from time to time as they made their exodus from the burning wreckage of what had once been an architectural masterpiece.

Once they were out in the open, outside and away from the building, he pulled off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling the collar up to obscure the marks on her neck. There were plenty of other victims grouped outside the museum; he was counting on the chaos of the situation to be able to slip by the emergency personnel back to the hotel.

He knew he should let her go, drop her off at one of the First Aid stations, take the sample and run for it. But with the museum and its artifacts now a smoldering heap, she was suddenly an expert on the _Illuminados _cult and his best chance at figuring out a way to destroy the sample.

For now however, keeping them both alive was the top priority. Whoever had paid off those guards was not going to be pleased that the sample had escaped from right under their noses. He'd get them both cleaned up and then finally, maybe, have a moment to sit down for a minute and think about just what the hell he was going to do now.


	3. Chapter 3

The walk back to the hotel was long and painful for Lise, her legs and hands splintered with the broken glass she'd crawled through. She kept her head down and her mouth shut, leaning on him for support every now and then but never complaining, never even asking where they were going. Leon felt guilty for having, unusually, come through the incident unscathed and was tempted to just carry her the rest of the way if it wouldn't have aroused so much suspicion on the crowded street; or earned him a smack in the face. As it was however, they were just one more pair of shell-shocked victims wandering away from the smoldering museum. She felt small and fragile under his arm and Leon felt the beginning pangs of guilt. He led her up the back stairs to his room, ushering her through to the bathroom as soon as they were in the door. He sat her on the toilet and grabbed the First Aid kit out of his duffel bag.

Lise looked even paler under the harsh fluorescent lights of the bathroom, her hair disheveled wildly and her clothes covered in dust and grime. Leon knew he didn't look much better, his split lip having dribbled blood down his chin and onto his shirt before clotting. He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands in the sink before kneeling in front of her to survey her wounds. Fortunately, the damage appeared to be minimal, the cuts clean and fairly shallow with only a few shards remaining embedded in her flesh.

"This is a pretty nice place the Feds set you up with. You should see the apartment they stuck me in," she managed a weak smile and he was glad to see some of her colour returning. She might survive this whole ordeal yet.

"Yea it's alright, but the mini-bar kind of sucks and they won't let me order any room service," he fished around in the first aid kit for the small pair of scissors.

"Or porno?" Leon feigned a hurt look,

"What kind of pervert do you take me for?" he sighed dramatically, "fine, no free porno either. What kind of dictatorship are we working for anyway?" It was a falsely jovial rapport that they both fell into easily to fill the quiet of the hotel room. He slid her shoe off, resting her foot on his thigh as he began cutting away the delicate material of her stockings, peeling it gently away from her skin. From her perch on the commode Lise noticed that he was pretty good with such intricate work for someone with such huge hands. In fact, everything about him seemed somehow larger than life – the long legs and muscular arms, the powerful build of his body, down to his icy blue eyes that peered out from the long shock of hair that hung over them, and how he'd handled everything so calmly, so efficiently. It was like he was too good to be true, like some kind of cyborg super-spy, so why was he bothering with her? Why not just take the sample and dump her off with the rest of the victims?

For his part, Leon was feeling all too human as he struggled to remember to be a gentleman while he gripped her smooth, pale legs in his hands, feeling them quiver as he cleaned the cuts and continually batting his mind out of the gutter as his more primal side fed him images of those fine limbs wrapped around his hips as they - God was he 17 again or what? There was just something about life-threatening situations that still made him want to fuck his brains out afterwards. She might even be willing enough if he bothered to ask, but this was hardly the time or place – for all he knew Saddler himself, dressed in one of those stupid Umbrella uniforms was about to beat down his door for that damned sample.

He finished with her legs and hands, spraying them with the First Aid spray from the kit, and pushed himself to his feet. "Why don't you have a shower and I'll see if I can find some different clothes for you to wear for now." They were both covered in dust and worse, even if most of the grime could be brushed off 'business casual' wasn't exactly the ideal uniform of artifact thieves on the run. "I need to make a phone call or two in the mean time."

"Leon," she looked down at the tiles for a moment before meeting his gaze, "I really appreciate this and everything, but why are you doing this? Why bother with me?" He blew out a breath, running a hand through his dusty hair. He had hoped to have a little more time to compose his thoughts before having to explain them.

"The sample is almost useless without any information; that's why you've been here researching for the past 3 months. You did all that research for a reason, I should know, and with all the books and reports gone, you're the only source left. I know that, and I'm sure whoever paid off those guards knows it too. If they have access to the security system, they'll also know that you were the last person in that storage room." He sat down on the side of the luxurious claw-foot tub, bringing himself down to her eyelevel. "Look, if you want, I can take you home right now, but you're safer here with me."

She nodded stiffly, her mind reeling as she tried to process fact that although she had planned to do laundry and catch up on her sitcoms this evening when she'd left for work in the morning, her life had suddenly taken a plunge in a very different, very dangerous direction. She stared at him for a minute, trying to find something to read in his cold, calculating eyes and finally giving up; like a good Government Agent his expression was totally unreadable.

"I'll go with you," Leon nodded in approval and stood again, heading for the door

"Leave your clothes by the door and I'll take care of them," and then he was gone, closing the door behind him with an audible click.

Lise stood and walked to the vanity, staring at herself in the mirror, taking in the disheveled hair, smeared make-up, and pale, scared face looking back at her. She could feel herself trembling all over, felt like crying hysterically, praying to wake up and discover she'd dreamed the entire thing, anything to not have to deal with…this. The expenses paid research contract in Madrid had seemed too good to be true, but she would have never guessed the cost to be this high.

She pulled the tube out of her pocket and set it on the counter, the parasite finally calming its frantic battering when it could no longer feel her nearby. She didn't know what Leon was planning to do with the sample, if he would try to turn it over to the Government like a good lap-dog. Hell, she didn't know the first thing about this guy beyond his name and how great he looked in a well tailored suit, and now she was stuck with him for who knows how long, following his agenda.

Lise stared herself down in the mirror, her resolve building even as she struggled to blink back tears. She knew exactly what the parasites could do, had read the volumes on its mind control abilities and the horrific rituals the cult practiced. She had had nightmares about it for the first week of her contract from the graphic descriptions and diagrams. It was something she couldn't willingly allow to fall into the wrong hands, to be used on innocent people.

The sample had to be destroyed, end of story.


	4. Chapter 4

Leon paced on the balcony of his room, chewing the knuckle of his thumb, the gorgeous view of the city neglected as his mind raced over the events of the day.

The Sample – was Saddler somehow still alive or was this some other whack-job picking up where he left off? Whoever they were, they likely weren't the only people after it. Who had donated it? Who was keeping it off the records? Was someone at the museum in on it? Umbrella had definitely been involved in the previous incident and there was no reason to think that they wouldn't be this time around too. Saddler, Wesker, whoever, was definitely not going to be pleased when their sample disappeared right under their noses so he needed to figure out some way to get rid of it - fast.

The Government – The Agency knew where he was going, would know what had happened, and could find out easily enough if he had made it out or not. If the Feds knew he had the sample they'd want him to turn it over ASAP to do who knows what with it. Contrary to popular belief, Leon didn't consider himself some brainwashed, spineless Government lapdog incapable of thinking for himself. He had an idea of how such an item might be put to use by his higher-ups, and he knew he likely wouldn't approve. However, if they ever found out he'd let something that precious slip through their fingers he'd be a dead man – or worse. Saving the President's Daughter wouldn't get you a free ride forever.

The Girl – he hadn't lied to her, she was crucial to this whole ordeal. He'd seen her scrapping with that guard back at the museum and could tell she wouldn't go down without a fight but could already see the effect this level of stress was having on her. She seemed like a sweet girl and he hated having to get her involved in such a nasty affair. He knew it was his constant badgering that had gotten her flown over here in the first place and it ate him up inside knowing she'd likely not walk away from this without some severe emotional trauma, likely never return to the normal life she'd had when she woke up this morning. He knew the feeling all too well. Getting her back to safety and out of this whole mess as soon as possible was definitely a top priority.

Leon closed his eyes and leaned on the balcony rail, taking a deep breath. There was probably only one person who could help him out of the jam this time, one person he hoped he'd never have to drag through the mud again. One person with the contacts and resources to get the job done fast and under the government's radar. He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number for Claire Redfield.

The sound of the phone ringing was like an alarm in the small, disorganized room in the rustic little farmhouse in southern France that Claire Redfield tentatively called her office. Unfolding herself from her seated position on the floor, surrounded by boxes and papers, she grabbed the receiver, cradling it between her ear and shoulder.

"Hello?"

"Claire?" the voice on the other end came through amid bursts of static, "It's Leon."

"Leon, where the hell are you? I can hardly hear you," she sat back down on the floor, the single chair in the room currently occupied with a hefty stack of file folders. It wasn't unusual for Leon to call her up from time to time – Christmas, birthdays, they rare days off he had at home. They hadn't seen each other for a couple of years now, but he always made sure to let her know he was still alive.

"I need a favour,"

"Why am I not surprised?" she laughed, flipping though a folder full of candids of some ex-Umbrella employee conducting some clandestine transaction or another. After a while, they all seemed to run together. Although Umbrella was officially finished, Claire, her brother, and a handful of other operatives still worked to make sure there would never be another Raccoon City. And with the new leads Leon had brought back from Spain they had been busy for the past few months.

"I need you to get rid of something for me," his voice sounded strained, even through the poor connection.

"Are your parents coming over and you need me to stash your porn collection again?"

"Yea, kind of," he managed a small chuckle, "It's a souvenir from my last trip to Spain, and I'd hate to see it just tossed in the trash,"

"Leon, this isn't a secure line," she put the folder down, reading between the lines and sitting up straighter.

"I know, but I don't really have a choice right now. So let's make this quick: do you still have those ex-Umbrella scientists in your pocket?"

"Yes,"

"The ones in Ukraine?"

"Yes,"

"If I can get a package to you, can you have it destroyed, no questions asked?"

"What kind of package?"

"I thought I said no questions asked," he teased.

"Leon…"

"Biological," she paused. Although everything had been kept fairly quiet, she had some idea of what had gone on in that village in Spain. The scientists they'd helped relocate after Umbrella's demise were loyal, no question about it, but she didn't know if they had the equipment to deal with something like that. The very fact that he would call her for help instead of his contacts within his own agency didn't bode well for the situation.

"I don't know, probably? Maybe? They'll do everything they can," he sighed, and she could picture him pacing and fidgeting with his free hand like he always did under stress.

"Okay. Good enough, I guess. I'll phone you in a couple of days to let you know what's going on."

"Whatever you need, just let me know,"

"Thanks Claire, I appreciate it,"

"Any time," they each signed off and she hung up the phone, leaning her head up against the desk behind her. _Leon, what are you getting us into this time?_


	5. Chapter 5

Lise turned off the shower, letting herself bask in the heat of the steamy room before wrapping herself up in one of the plush hotel towels. She wondered if the humidity was harmful for the _plaga_, but it unfortunately seemed content enough, bobbing peacefully in its container. The shower had given her plenty of time to think and she had decided that the first thing on the agenda was getting some straight answers from Mr. Bond out there. Hopefully she would be able to convince him that the sample needed to be destroyed, if he wasn't already planning on it.

It seemed Leon had been true to his word, and exchanged her dirty and ripped clothes for a pair of black sweatpants and a worn t-shirt folded neatly on the countertop. How he thought this would make her any less conspicuous on the fashion-elite streets of Madrid she wasn't really sure, but was grateful to have something clean to wear either way. She tucked the sample into one of the pockets and used a safety pin from the First Aid kit to secure it closed. It was unpleasant to keep the creepy crawly so close to her person at all times, but she managed to find some small comfort in always knowing where it was.

She opened the bathroom door to find Leon still on the balcony, his cell phone glued to his ear, nodding solemnly at whatever was being said on the other line. He'd left his gun and knife holster on the bed and she sat down next to it, fingering the cold metal of the magnum. Had he just fed her a line to keep her quiet while he made arrangements to dispose of her? Was he even now contacting his people to tell them he had almost secured the sample? She slid the heavy gun out of its worn holster; could she really hurt him - kill him - if it came down to it?

Leon stepped back into the room to find her sitting on the bed, damp hair leaving wet trails over her shoulders, his old R.P.D. shirt hanging baggily off her much smaller frame and the sweatpants pooling around her feet. He smiled, sliding the cell phone back into his pocket,

"I hope the clothes fit okay, I'll go out and get you some better ones before we leave tomorrow, but it's the best I could do for now," he shrugged apologetically.

"It's alright, I just hope you gave my Christian Louboutin heels the burial they deserved," she returned the smile, making room for him on the bed where he sat down and leaned forward to pull off his boots. As he bent over she pulled the magnum out of its holster and as he sat back up he felt the cold and infuriating press of metal against the side of his face. "It's time for some answers Leon," he could hear the panic rising in her voice again, kicking himself for not realizing how close to the edge she'd been. He raised his hands in front of his chest where she could see them. _When are you going to learn Kennedy, there really is no such thing as a nice, sweet girl anymore_.

"Put the gun down," he growled, his voice ice cold. He was getting tired of the whole use-Leon's-brains-for-target-practice game that seemed to be popular lately, especially among the female persuasion.

"I won't let you hand the sample over to the Feds,"

"Put the gun down. Now." He turned his head slightly to face her, the barrel of the magnum, _his_ magnum, now lodged beside his nose under his eye socket. "We have to destroy it, don't you understand?" her voice cracked. If only her hand would falter for just one second he could get the situation back under control. She had meant for things to go a lot more smoothly, to ask him a few questions to see where he stood in this whole game. But he was so intimidating sitting so close to her, that something had just snapped. He was even more intimidating now, his jaw clenched tightly, his icy, shockingly blue eyes piercing right through her.

"You'll break your wrist if you hold it like that. Just put the gun down and I promise we'll talk," it was a struggle to keep the steel out of his voice, not to push her any farther than she already was. It was a struggle not to reach out and break her wrist himself, wrenching the gun out of her shaking hands.

"Even I can't miss at this range Leon! God, is that even your real name? Now I could really use your help but if you won't I - I swear ...I'll kill you right now…" she was verging on hysterics, the gun almost wavering now. He just hoped she didn't twitch and blow his brains out. He knew he should have explained things more clearly in the beginning, but she'd seemed fairly calm when he'd left her in the bathroom. He thought he would have a little more time before reality sunk in and she went off the deep end.

"Look, I want this thing destroyed as badly as you do, but I can't help you if you accidentally shoot me in the eye. Just give me the gun and let's talk about this, okay? We're still on the same team here."

"How do I know that's the truth? How do I know you won't kill me after this?!" He sighed deeply, closing his eyes briefly.

"Because I've been to that village up north," he paused, letting it sink in "I've seen first-hand what those parasites can do, and I'm willing to risk _everything_ to make sure it never happens again," he met her watery eyes, compelling her to believe him. Christ, he'd show her the scars to prove it if he had to. "And believe me sweetheart, if I wanted you dead, you already would be." She recoiled slightly, wavering under his gaze for a fraction of a second, and it was enough for him to grab her fragile wrist in one hand, ripping the magnum out of her fingers with the other and throwing the gun to the end of the bed.

"Don't ever point a gun at me again," he could feel her erratic pulse beneath his fingers as he pulled her close, their chests nearly touching now. Her eyes were wild and scared but she made no move to pull away. "Ever. Do you understand?" The fires of Hell were in his eyes as he glared down at her.

"Yes! Please Leon let go of me," she struggled briefly against his grip but his fingers were like a vice around her wrist.

"Promise me. Promise me you'll trust me enough not to ever point a fucking gun at my head again."

"I promise!" she yelped, "I swear! Please Leon, you're hurting me," he dropped her wrist like a hot poker, his expression instantly apologetic. The last trip to Spain must have affected him more than he'd thought. He was getting too old for this kind of thing.

"I'm sorry," he said, getting up from the bed and re-harnessing the holster around chest, tucking the magnum back in its place. "It's… it's just this thing I have," he offered weakly in way of explanation. Leon grabbed his jacket from where it had been tossed on a chair and made for the door, "I'm going to go out and grab us some supplies and something to eat."

"I'll be here," she motioned to her bare feet under the too-long legs of the sweats. He nodded and they exchanged a weak, apologetic, if not forced smile before he turned out into the hallway, closing the door securely behind him. _Women_.


	6. Chapter 6

It was well after dark by the time Leon made his way back to the room. After the bombing the entire city had been thrown into a panic and it would be days before they calmed down again. He hoped to be long gone by then. The TV was on in the hotel room, the volume low, casting silently moving shadows around the otherwise dark room, illuminating the huddled form on the bed in brief flashes. If she were asleep he wouldn't bother waking her up, and if not, she apparently wanted to be left alone. Leon set his bags down on the dresser and, grabbing a clean change of clothes, headed for the bathroom.

He pulled his sweat-crusted shirt off in one swift movement, tossing it in a heap on the floor where the rest of his clothes would soon follow. The harsh lighting illuminated the dark circles under his eyes, the hard edge of his features, the scars scattered across his chest. His last trip to Spain had brought back a lot of nightmares and it seemed like this trip, despite its promising start, wasn't going to fare much better. He thought of the tiny, huddled lump currently curled up in the far corner of his bed and sighed, he could only imagine what she must be going through. Although Raccoon City and the Spanish Village were not phenomena he would ever like to repeat, he had experienced both from a position of authority; first as a police officer and then as a Government agent. Even now he had training and experience to give him confidence, but for someone who had had no exposure to the dark, corrupt underbelly of the world, the immediate future must seem daunting indeed.

Leon groaned as he shucked off the rest of his clothes, the bruises of the day finally making themselves known. He stepped into the shower and turned the water on hot, not knowing the next time they would be able to enjoy these kinds of luxuries and planning to make the most of it. If there was one important lesson to be learned from crawling around in the sewers of Raccoon City and running around in the backwoods of Europe, it was to eat, sleep, and wash as best as you can, while you can.

By the time he had finished in the bathroom Lise had pulled herself into a sitting position against the headboard, the comforter bundled around her small frame tightly. She had also turned the bedside lamp on, casting a warm glow over everything and making the room seem less haunting.

"Hey," Leon said, still rubbing the excess water out of his hair with a towel.

"Hey," she replied quietly and then cleared her throat, not meeting his eyes as she worried a loose thread on the comforter. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again, "Leon, I'm really sorry about before – about the gun. I don't know what happened, I just freaked out and I'm really sorry. I trust you and it won't happen again." He moved closer to her, leaving the towel draped over the back of a chair and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It's okay; it's been a rough day. It's only natural to react to these kinds of things - you were in the right to be suspicious," he noticed how tightly she was clutching herself around the blankets, her knuckles white. "Are you alright?"

"It's just really cold in here," she looked so small and fragile all bundled up in his bed and it pulled on his heartstrings. What was he doing dragging someone like this through something he didn't even know if he could survive? "No matter what I do, I just can't seem to warm up." Leon frowned, seeing that she was indeed shivering – no, just shaking, trembling. He should have known the nighttime would be the hardest; it always was. What she needed, what they both needed, was a little human contact before they ventured out to face the parasitic hordes.

"Come here," he moved to lean against the headboard beside her, drawing her out her cocoon of blankets and against his chest, still warm from the scalding shower even through the cotton of his t-shirt. His arms settled around her awkwardly at first, but as she wriggled against him to get comfortable he relaxed, enjoying the feel of her pressed against him - another luxury Leon hadn't found himself with in a long while. He let one of his hands softly roam her back and she slid her hand up over his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt. They were quiet, each just enjoying the physical presence of the other, drawing something instinctively comforting from it.

"So what happens now?" she whispered against him, feeling once more the hard press of the capsule against her leg.

"I've made arrangements with some old friends of mine. They should have the contacts to be able to find some way to destroy that _thing_," he said the word with disgust.

"Can you trust them?"

"I hope so," he blew out a breath, "if not, then it's already too late."

"So it's just you and me for now I guess then," her voice wavered and he tilted her chin up to look into her eyes, noticing for the first time their unusual, non-descript, greenish-blue colour. She looked a lot younger without the make-up and carefully styled hair although Leon knew she couldn't be much younger than he was.

"I'm here to protect you, alright? I won't let anything happen to you." Leon felt a tear roll over his thumb where it was pressed against her soft cheek, and gently wiped it away. "So don't worry, I'll get you out of this."

"Thank you," she said simply, laying her head back down on his chest. Eventually he felt her breathing slow as she was finally able to drift off to into a light sleep. He turned off the light beside the bed and stared into the glowing box of the TV. Leon knew it was wrong, but he could feel himself getting attached to this girl, young woman, whatever. There was something about her, something sweet, something genuine, something that made him want to stay close to her. To protect her, and comfort her, but to also take some small comfort from her, from her normalness.

All of the women he'd been involved with since Raccoon City had been strong, independent, and ready to brush him off if he got in the way of their goals. Ada had needed him to advance her own goals and he resented being her puppet. Whatever compassion she may have had for him had always been overshadowed by her own ambition. Claire was like a smaller version of her brother with breasts, he'd always felt like he was getting in her way, holding her back, until they'd just decided it wasn't working out and that they functioned better as friends and colleagues. Leon needed to be able to protect the people he cared about, but Claire was too independent to allow someone to watch over her. Even Ashley had had some tough girl chip on her shoulder about being the President's daughter.

Here was finally someone he could take care of with out worrying about getting a kick in the balls for his trouble and he liked that. He liked taking care of people, which was why he got into police work in the first place. Barry Burton had always teased him, saying he just liked the power trip and all the pretty girls the uniform brought, but in reality the only time he ever felt truly useful was in the role of the protector. In his line of work he was used to dealing with the worst of the worst, and he had found himself surprised at how embittered he had become over the years. She reminded him that there were still people out there worth taking care of. He knew that once he handed her, along with the sample, off to Claire's people he'd probably never get a chance to see her again, and he was surprised at how much that fact already affected him. He was getting soft, and if that was the case, he was definitely getting too old for this shit.


	7. Chapter 7

Lise awoke several fitful hours later alone again in the bed. Leon slowly came back into focus, moving efficiently around the room, quickly re-packing everything into one tiny bag. She sat up and glanced out the windows, the sky still dark with just the faintest tinge of pink light at the very horizon. Leon hadn't slept; he knew he likely wouldn't for the next day or so either, but they needed to get going and keep going before someone could connect the dots.

He had reported in with the Agency earlier, telling them he was on a lead, tracking down the missing sample. Having more than proven himself capable, the Agency was content to leave him up to his own devices for now. In the end, they didn't concern themselves with the means as long as the results were satisfactory, a fact he was counting on to keep their eyes off of him for a while.

"Rise and shine," he said, placing a plastic bag on the end of the bed. "As promised, your new clothes. I hope they fit alright; the sales girl was about your size so I just had her pick some things out."

"Thanks," she said groggily, rubbing her hands roughly over her face and stifling a yawn. She picked up the bag and was heading to the bathroom when Leon stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"There's still one more thing," he said, bracing himself. He hoped that her half-conscious state of mind would help soften the blow, or possibly her ability to rain blows down upon him. She quirked a groggy eyebrow at him, "your hair - it's too recognizable." She stared at him blankly, almost challenging him to continue this train of thought. "There's a pair of scissors and a box of dye in the bag."

"No way cowboy," she said, pulling the scissors out of the bag and pushing them at him, "you want it gone so badly, you can do it yourself," Lise lead the way into the bathroom and plunked herself down on the toilet, arms crossed. She knew it was childish to act this way, especially in light of their current circumstance, but it seemed to be giving up one last hold on her former life, one less path through which to return to the real world. Her hair, having just been washed a few hours before, looked glossy and soft even in the fluorescent light of the bathroom. Leon groaned inwardly; he had always had a thing for redheads and this was going to be torture. He grabbed a handful of the silky locks, and almost cringed as he snipped them off above her shoulder. She kept her eyes open and resentful the entire time as he worked as deftly as he could, trying his best not to make things too asymmetrical. Finally she reached out her hand, saying quietly,

"I can finish it from here," she looked up at him from the ruins of her pride and joy, her expression beaten. Leon started to speak but she held up a hand, "just go".

Forty-five minutes later she re-emerged and Leon had to admit, she still cleaned up nicely. She'd managed to undo some of the butchery he'd committed and had added a blunt fringe which disrupted the shape of her face nicely. The effect of the black dye was startling, especially when it was still so fresh and bold. The simple jeans, t-shirt and jacket also added to the illusion of youth while the over-large sunglasses perched on top of her head would help disguise most of her face.

"I feel like I'm fifteen again," she groaned, handing him back the scissors, "excuse me while I go cut myself in my parents' basement."

"You look fine," he soothed, handing her a length of cloth, "I got this for your neck." The red welts on her neck had faded to bruises overnight and he knew they would be incriminating for him if they were traveling together. She unfurled the scarf, running the fine fabric, a dark blue shot through with threads of silver, through her fingers before wrapping it artfully around her neck.

"Thank you, it's lovely," she smiled genuinely for what seemed like years and Leon felt a sense of relief wash over him. Their relationship thus far had been somewhat rocky and very unusual – terrorist attacks, guns, desperate physical contact, and porno jokes – but they were going to be spending a considerable amount of time together in close quarters so things needed to at least be comfortable between them.

Although the rest of her clothes, aside from underwear, had been picked up cheaply at a run of the mill chain store, the scarf had been something Leon had purchased separately, deliberately, as a peace offering. He was more than glad it had been successful.

"So where do we go now?" she asked, pulling the jacket tighter around herself.

"We need to get out of the country, off the continent" he answered, handing her a bag to carry the sample in, "we'll get to England and hide out for a while until my contacts can set things up." France had been an option but was too close to Umbrella's former Headquarters for comfort. She nodded and settled the bag over her shoulder as he held the door open, ushering her out the door into the unknown.


	8. Chapter 8

"What do you mean it's gone?" Albert Wesker rubbed the bridge of his nose between two gloved fingers. "What happened to the guards?"

"When our men got there, they were already dead, sir," the man in front of him, if such a sniveling waste of flesh could be called such, looked ready to crawl into the nearest hole and die of fright, the stench of it almost palpable in the air.

"And the security tapes?"

"Right here, sir," he held out a disc, clearly afraid to come within arms reach, but even more afraid of displeasing him. It was so nice to be in control again. "Two figures enter and then leave right before our agents arrive. We could only get an ID on the woman."

Wesker slid the disk into a slot on his desk, the wall screens changing from a soothing view of the Earth's rotations to grainy security footage. A smaller screen popped up, showing scans of a security clearance pass for a twenty-something woman, her statistics scrolling underneath. But Wesker was more interested in her companion, a man whose face was quickly becoming too familiar. He already had all the information he needed on Leon S. Kennedy, gleaned not from Government databases, but from Umbrella's own files on the anti-Umbrella group Leon had once associated with. Wesker allowed himself a small, chilling smile.

"So Ada, you thought you could save him," he chuckled, her disobedience was complete then. He hadn't been entirely surprised when the false sample had arrived and Ada had disappeared; she always did like to pretend she was fighting the good fight. Well, she'd learn the penalty of her actions soon enough.

"Sir?"

"Get me HUNK," he man practically tripped over his own feet as he scurried out the door. Resorting to HUNK came at a price: the man was infuriatingly arrogant, so smug with the knowledge that while Wesker had been lurking in the shadows and scraping what was left of Birkin off the platform, he had returned triumphantly to Spencer with a complete sample of the G-virus in hand. With that sly, cocky grin, he was one of the few who had the audacity to look him in the eye.

Human Unit Never Killed was a title not even Wesker could claim. Although they were both seemingly immortal, it was clear that HUNK considered Wesker, with his artificial blood, nowhere near his level.

Soft footfalls approached from behind. For someone as physically imposing as HUNK, he moved with all the lithe grace of a cat.

"You rang?" Wesker turned to face the man. His features were pleasant enough, surprisingly unscarred despite his years of service. Those stifling gasmasks did serve some purpose after all. HUNK's only memorable feature was his eyes; cold and calculating they turned every smile into a feral sneer.

"It seems the sample has managed to slip through our fingers yet again."

"Imagine that."

"And our friend Leon Kennedy has worked his way into the mix once more."

"The man has nine lives. He does his family name proud."

"I want the sample and I want him dead." HUNK nodded at the wall screens,

"And the girl?"

"She is of little consequence. Deal with her as you see fit. Peters will have a file prepared for you." HUNK turned to leave, his boots not even squeaking on the brightly polished floor as the door whispered closed behind him.

Loyalty had always been a problem within the ranks of Umbrella, a fact Wesker could personally attest to. The kinds of people willing to research for the company were not the type to remain content in their positions for very long. Obedience, however forced, would be a pillar of strength for the new Umbrella. The _plaga_ sample was the key to that peace of mind, and Wesker didn't care who he had to coddle or kill to get it.


	9. Chapter 9

A week later found them both lounging on a pebble beach on the south coast of England. Leon liked it by the water, it was calm and quiet and peaceful – adjectives so foreign to him for the past few years of his life that they affected him like a drug. He was tempted to hurl the Godforsaken immortal worm stashed in her handbag into the endless depths of the ocean, sweep the warm female body next to him up in his arms, ride off into the sunset and never come anywhere near 'civilized' society ever again. Maybe he'd even live to see 40 if he were lucky.

Hell, at this rate he'd settle for 30.

Leon could remember the exact date when he had stopped picturing himself in the future, stopped making plans more than a few weeks in advance: Raccoon City, September 29th, 1998. He had been so convinced that festering hellhole would be his grave that he lived on borrowed time now, always looking over his shoulder for the instant his timer would run out. It wasn't much of a way to live, but it was better than the alternative.

"Leon, what did you want to be when you grew up?" he rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on his hand to face the still shockingly raven-haired Lise. He admired her bravery, forced as it may be; after the first night she hadn't so much as quivered, just sucked it up and dutifully followed wherever he lead. He pitied her too, because he knew what it was like to have your entire life go up in one fiery blast.

In the past few days he'd tried to teach her as much as he could about how to survive until they had to meet their contact – just in case. She was cute and looked young with her hair cut short, he figured that, in the best case scenario, she could bat her eyelashes, maybe flash a little skin, and charm her way out of trouble that way. He'd seen Rebecca Chambers do it numerous times. He had given her his knife in the event of a worst case scenario. She was a quick learner and had picked up on the maneuvers he'd showed her with ease. He just hoped that when this was over for her, as it was never really, truly over, they could find her some nice quiet life to lead to forget about all of this.

"A cop, what else?" he chuckled, a low, pleasant sound, "what about you?" Living in such close quarters – a small rented room near the shore, had resulted in a kind of easy camaraderie between them. For as much as he admired her for her bravado, she admired him for his strength, they way he inherently needed to protect those around him regardless of the cost to himself. Both being foreigners in a strange place, they grew together as they traveled, enjoying having someone there to share new experiences with, grateful to not be alone. If not for the constant strain of fear and lurking death, it might have been a nice vacation.

"You're going to laugh."

"Try me."

"A rocket scientist."

"Oh yeah? And how did that work out for you?" She playfully punched him in the shoulder,

"Shut up! How do you think? I nearly failed Calculus in university and that was the end of that." They both settled back onto their backs, staring up. Several moments of silence later she spoke again,

"I think you would have made a good cop," he sat up again to look down at her face, hair splayed around her on the pebbled beach, seeing the reflection of himself in her sunglasses.

"And why's that?"

"Because I think you genuinely like to help people. I think you're a good man - a good person - and you just have this – this need to do the right thing and see it through to the end. And I think the reason you're not a cop isn't because you failed some test somewhere along the line, I think it's because something really bad happened once and you're still trying to see it through."

Maybe it was the romantic setting, or the constant tension of living so close to someone of the opposite sex bubbling over, or maybe it was the fact that someone had bothered to look past the rank and the gun and see what kind of person lurked under his skin, but Leon threw the rule-book out the window, leaned forward, and kissed her as hard as he could.


	10. Chapter 10

She was so sweet, like nothing he'd ever tasted before. Like innocence, and compassion, and blind trust, all rolled up into one spirited little package he hadn't ever really taken his eyes off. It was intoxicating and, like an addict, he needed more; as if by devouring her, ravishing her, he could take some of that innocence and compassion into himself, to replace what had been so brutally ripped from his own life.

Her hands came up his back, winding into his hair and pulling his face even closer as she opened her mouth to let his tongue in. It was like a dream he sometimes had, in between the nightmares, when his male urges managed to dominate the monsters that lurked in his subconscious. Someone soft and warm, with no connection to all the parts of himself that he hated. A willing, supple body for him to pound away his frustrations on.

The logical part of his brain still functioning wanted him to pull away while he still could, before he made a big mistake and someone got hurt. The rest of him said that he deserved a break, that he'd put in plenty of hours and there was no reason he couldn't take advantage of this.

She shifted against him, pressing herself to his chest tightly and the last bastion of logic in his mind was swept away in a surge of heat and a grinding of hips.

Fuck parasites. Fuck Saddler. Fuck Umbrella. Fuck the Feds. Somebody please just fuck _him_.

He pulled them both up and quickly navigated them back to their rented room, the attic of an old house a few blocks away. As soon as she'd shut the door he had her pressed against it, pulling off her jacket and scarf with quick, sharp movements as she worked his over his shoulders. Their mouths fused again, but there was nothing sweet about it this time, just hot, wet, and urgent. Leon kissed her face, her neck, her mouth, running his fingers lightly up under her shirt, feeling the swell of her hips, the indentation of her waist. She clutched his shoulders as he lifted her, wrapping her legs around his hips as he moved towards the bed.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked as he lay her down on the plush comforter of the bed. She swallowed hard, but didn't speak, just nodded and arched against him, eyes half closed and lips swollen with lust. Leon reached for his bag and tore into his shaving kit, pulling out a few condoms and tossing them on the nightstand. Lise was on her knees now, looking up at him as he stood over her, pulling her t-shirt over her head, leaving parts of her hair sticking up. She blushed, _of course she would blush_, as he looked down at her, taking in her slight, pale form: round, creamy breasts pushed against the shiny black material of her bra, her small waist, and the generous, feminine curve of her hips.

He pulled his own t-shirt over his head and saw her expression change from sheer lust to one of concern. The moment, so frantic up to this point, seemed to stand still as her eyes devoured the tragedy of his body, her forehead furrowing.

He still sometimes managed to forget the network of scars that marred his chest - the bullet wound on his shoulder, the four parallel slashes Birkin's claws had left when he hadn't stepped back quickly enough, a still pink gash where he'd been hit with a hatchet on his last trip to Spain, and a myriad of other lines from his illustrious career: knife slashes, broken glass, shrapnel and more had all left their marks. Some would call them badges of honour, testaments to all he'd achieved and accomplished. To Leon they were just another unwanted reminder of all the pain he'd been through to get to a place he wasn't even sure he wanted to be anymore.

"Leon…" she ran a finger lightly over the trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans, then his abs, then tracing Birkin's handiwork as she worked her way up, "what the hell happened to you?" He grabbed her hand, pressing her fingers to his lips as he lay down, pulling her against him and running his hands over her skin, still cool from the ocean breeze.

"Don't think about it," he nuzzled the curve of her neck, sliding one of her bra straps over her shoulder and kissing her there, "it's all in the past, just think about now." Lise ran her hands over his back, his chest, enjoying the movement of hard muscle under skin as his own hands roamed over her curves, tickling her spine, then moving over to skim her breasts. He cupped them, enjoying the contrast of his tanned skin against her pale flesh, feeling her hard nipples against his palms. Her mouth found his and he swallowed a soft moan from her as he began to rub the silky fabric of her bra against the hard buds. Leon plucked her nipples through the material, twisting them harder and harder, then slid a hand inside, cupping her breast firmly. She arched herself against him, grasping the bars of the headboard above her head and grinding her pelvis into his, feeling the long hard length of him through their jeans.

Unzipping the fly of her jeans, Leon rolled her onto her stomach, straddling her legs. Her bra was unhooked and off in one swift movement and he allowed himself a brief moment of reminiscence to mentally kick himself for cutting off all of that silky hair of hers, imagining how it would have looked spilling over her back, or just covering her breasts. He kissed his way down her spine, taking his time and loving the way she twitched and trembled under his lips as he moved lower. Hooking his thumbs into her jeans and panties he pulled both down and off, leaving her naked in front of him. Lise arched her ass against him as he ran his hands over her thighs, up her back and down again. His body covered hers, his hands reaching under to caress her breasts, pulling the hard points of her nipples as his lips moved over her neck. They rocked together, the denim of his jeans pressing hard against her sensitive bare skin.

He reached down to unzip his own fly and she twisted under him, turning onto her back again. She looked up at him and grinned dangerously, tongue darting out to lick her lips as her eyes roamed up his body. With his jeans undone, slung low around his lean hips, the well defined muscles of his chest flexing and contracting with every breath, and the bedroom eyes peering out from beneath the long shock of hair, he was a fantasy come to life.

His large hands massaged her breasts, kneading the soft flesh, as he leaned forward to lick lightly over her nipples, blowing over the wet nubs to make them pucker. She burrowed her fingers in his hair, the silken strands looking more red than gold in the evening light that came in through the window, and held his head tightly against her. Leon worked a hand lower, over the creamy plane of her stomach, to the curls at the apex of her thighs. She bowed her back as he slid a finger into her, her hands gripped tight to the headboard once more. She was tight, very tight. Leon grinned into the side of her neck as he kissed her there – this was going to feel _so_ good. He pulled his finger out, wiping the wetness on her nipple, then bending his head to lick it off.

"Leon," she moaned, breathless as he lowered his hand again to massage the wetness of her slit, "please."

"Get on your knees," he commanded, his voice low and husky. He moved away, stripping off the rest of his clothing and rolling the condom down over himself as she turned over and positioned herself.

He pushed her knees wider with his own, teasing her with just the tip of his prick for a moment. Then he entered her with one fluid thrust, her hot walls gripping and pulsing around him even as she gasped with the force of his movement. Her hips ground back against his as they each fell into the rhythm, the bed creaking slightly under them. Leon gripped a handful of her hair, pulling her head back while his other hand worked underneath, between her legs, rubbing circles around the hard bud of her clit.

They were both panting, soft moans escaping her as he brought her closer to the edge. With the sun filtering in through the curtains and such a tight, wet glove grasping his cock, Leon thought it was probably the most beautiful moment he'd had in a long time. He fucked her roughly, slamming into her forcefully, but it only seemed to drive her higher, his hands gripping her hips now with enough force to leave marks.

"Oh Leon, fuck!" She gasped, her entire body tensing as she came, biting into one of the pillows to stifle the cries that threatened to force themselves out of her throat. The force of her orgasm was enough to bring him to his, thrusting hard into her as it spilled out of him. Pulling out gently, he gathered her against his chest as he lay down on the bed. For a moment they were both quiet, catching their breath.

He could feel her body shaking and he looked down, concerned that he'd hurt her with the brutality of their coupling, and was surprised to find her laughing, a hand clamped delicately over her mouth to stifle the outburst.

"What's so funny?" he asked removing the condom, tying it off and tossing it in the wastebasket in the corner of the room.

"I have been wanting to do that since I saw you sitting in that meeting room at the museum," her cheeks reddened into a blush but she was smiling, genuinely smiling, and Leon was taken aback. It was the first time he'd seen her truly happy since they'd met, and with that absolute grin, pink cheeks, and eyes dancing from their recent escapade, she was shockingly breathtaking. He couldn't remember the last time he had been able to fool around with someone like this, had heard someone laugh like that around him. He couldn't remember the last person who made him feel this at ease. He felt a grin tugging at the corners of his own mouth.

"Oh really? That's not very bookwormish of you Miss Bélanger," he purposely exaggerated the French accent on her last name, mocking the way she'd sounded on the voicemail message he had heard a thousand times while setting up his trip.

"I'm so sorry Officer Kennedy," she actually did a pretty spot on Irish accent, "I didn't realize there were rules about these kinds of things."

"Yes I'm afraid so, and the penalties for breaking them are really rather harsh,"

"Is that a fact?"

"Unfortunately," he shifted his body, trying to pin both of her wrists in his one hand but she caught on, pushing away from him.

"You'll have to catch me first, pig," she laughed, twisting the upper half of her body away, but he caught one of her legs, pulling her back. She struck out with the other leg, making such a convincing feint for his unprotected groin that he instinctively let go and she swung her body around, rolling out of the bed triumphantly.

Leon looked up at her from his position on the bed, the victorious grin, light dancing in her eyes and felt something tug in his chest. Her good mood, her optimism, her faith in his abilities, they were all contagious and had all been affecting him, bolstering him, since their first hour together. Lying in this bed, surrounded by her smell, he felt content, at ease, relaxed even, something he hadn't felt in months, years maybe. In his line of work it was better to be on edge, alert, totally independent, _alone_; and that's exactly what he would be after the few weeks they had together were over. He had never really realized how alone he was until she'd shown him what he had been missing all this time. What he had never wanted for himself when he'd started out with the R.P.D., but what he had condemned himself to when he'd made a deal with the Government.

"Better luck next time," she taunted, turning to find a clean change of underwear and he reached out for her, a sudden urge to have her near coming over him.

"Hey, come here," he grasped her hand, gently tugging her back onto the bed. She came willingly and curled into him easily, her head resting on his shoulder and her leg wrapping around him as he enveloped her in his arms.

"I bet you looked hot in your cop uniform,"

"Not really," he chuckled, "I was pretty scrawny," she snorted in disbelief, pinching his bicep in her fingers.

"Yea, I bet you were. A real toothpick I'm sure, the kind they always hire right out of Police Academy."

"Well it doesn't really matter; I wasn't a cop for very long anyway,"

"Is that why you have these?" she traced the claw marks on his chest, one finger in each jagged mark.

"Yea," he rolled them both onto their sides, running his hand up and down the length of her spine as he tucked her head under his chin.

"Will you ever tell me what happened?" she asked, wrapping her arm around him and bringing her head to his chest, listening to his steady heart beat. He was so strong, so confident and proficient that it was hard to imagine him any other way. He shook his head, kissing the top of her crown,

"No. It's just" he closed his eyes, searching for the words, "it's just better if you never know." She seemed content enough with that reply, for the moment at least. He stared at the waning light from the windows, allowing himself a few innocent minutes in the fantasy that as long as there were still moments like this, maybe everything would be alright in the end.


	11. Chapter 11

The sound of rustling bedclothes and the sound of bare feet padding across the floor to the partitioned off bathroom startled Leon out of his light slumber in the cramped chintz chair in the corner of the room. He stretched his neck, cramped from lack of support, and shifted his weight, trying to get comfortable in the beat-up old chair. His body was growing weary of being on high alert for so long; most of his missions were over in a day or two. If and when he got back to the States he was going to sleep for a week. Lise flicked the light off, and as the partition swung open again she gasped, noticing his backlit profile for the first time.

"Jesus Christ Leon, you scared the shit out of me!" she made her way to the chair opposite his, tucking her bare legs up under her, the moonlight making her white t-shirt seem to glow in the darkness.

"You should go back to bed,"

"You should come to bed, you're starting to look like a zombie," he'd finally stopped flinching at the sound of that word, probably at about the same time he'd started feeling like one.

"I'm fine," he reassured her, "I've slept on worse."

"Come on, I promise to wait up and scream as loud as I can if something happens," he shook his head. It was tempting, almost as tempting as it was to take her to bed and give her something to scream about. But he had already digressed once, and that was more than enough. He was already getting too involved in this, in her.

"Don't worry about me, just get some rest," she dragged her gaze from the window back to him, his eyes dark in the light filtering through the blinds.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot,"

"What's going to happen to me? Be honest." Leon scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the sharp press of bones against his fingers and sighed. She liked to have all the difficult conversations.

"Well, after a bunch of goons like me pick your brain for a couple of days, you'll be free to go. They'll find you a nice new name and a nice little life, and you'll try to forget that this ever happened. Of course you won't ever really be able to, because you'll always be running from it, looking over your shoulder. But eventually you'll get used to it, settle into a routine." She swallowed hard,

"What about my old life? My apartment," her voice cracked softly, "my family?"

"They probably already think you're dead, killed in the bombing" he could still hear so clearly how his own mother had sobbed relief over the phone when he'd called her two days after Raccoon City had been blasted into a smoldering crater. "They'll mourn you and move on and maybe one day, after things cool off, you can go back to them. You need to stay out of contact with them for a while, for their own safety." He hated how _professional_ he sounded, like a robot reciting off a standard procedure, when someone's life was effectively ending. It was like he had done this a hundred times before, because of course he had, relocating ex-Umbrella employees and their families in exchange for information.

"What about you?" her voice was raspy with constricted tears, "what happens to you after all of this?" Leon shrugged, he had been so caught up in just surviving he hadn't put much thought into what would happen afterwards.

"I'll go back to the States, back to work."

"Just like that?"

"Yea, I guess so."

"Must be nice,"

"Lise –" she held up a hand, stopping him,

"Just forget it." On the street below a car alarm sounded as a group of drunken college-age kids shoved one of their companions against it. The man responded with a flurry of angry curses, half indecipherable through his still-foreign English accent. "I wish I could have met you at another time, in another life maybe," her face was still turned away as she spoke, watching the street.

"Why's that?" he watched her, the breeze from the open window ruffling her hair and blowing his own off his face.

"I'd like to know you Leon, to know what makes a guy like you tick." The truth was, she was falling for him. It made no sense to her logical mind that an intelligent, independent woman like herself would feel this way towards a man she hardly even knew and had hardly spent any time with. And yet, she couldn't deny the feelings for him that were beginning to take hold over her. Sure she was grateful for all that he had done to protect her, but there was something more, something that ached in her chest when she reminded herself that she would probably never see him again.

"No you don't," she turned to face him again and saw him shake his head with a cynical laugh.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not a very nice man, and ultimately, I can't give you what you want." That was the bottom line. The reason he hadn't been able to commit to a serious relationship for the past six years. Every day when he walked out the door odds were that he wouldn't be coming back; odds that got worse with every assignment he took. He put his parents through Hell with worry, even felt it himself when Claire had disappeared in Europe, and he couldn't stand the thought of inflicting that on someone else he cared about.

"And what do I want?"

"Security," he shrugged, "someone dependable, honest. Someone who can give you the stability and safety of a normal life."

"And why is that so hard for you?" Leon took the magnum from his lap and dropped it on the table between them. It clattered for a moment, shining dully in the moonlight.

"Because I kill people for a living," the words were hard, unquestionable, and most of all, true. "The Government pays me a lot of money to make their enemies for them, because I'm one of the best."

"Do you enjoy it?" her words were almost frightened, but she never looked away, still wanting to see inside him despite everything.

"Sometimes," he answered honestly, "if I think they deserve it." He watched her turn away, looking for a reply in every place but his stern face and cold eyes. If she was afraid, he was glad: she would be better off to forget about him.

"You're wrong," she said finally after a quiet minute, "I don't want a normal life anymore, I just want to live; it doesn't even matter how."

"I'm sorry," the apology was genuine and sincere, his first in a long time.

"I wish things could have been different for you Leon, that you didn't have to live like this." He stared at her, so small curled up in the plush chair, so honest and real and so concerned for _him_ that he felt something in his chest tighten.

"Me too," he answered thickly, his voice suddenly hoarse as he thought of the life he would have liked to have, the life he had almost had that was now impossible. She gave him a brief, sad smile and stood, crossing the few steps over to his chair. She kissed him on the cheek and he turned his face slightly, their lips in line and only a breath apart. He could have grabbed her, devoured her whole in a fury of self-loathing and pity, but his hands were glued to the arms of the chair.

"Goodnight Leon," she said softly, her breath warm on his face, and turned, walking lightly back to the bed and crawling under the covers. He took the magnum off the table and checked the rounds for the thirtieth time that night. As he listened to her soft breathing, running through her words in his head, Leon could feel himself slowly, dangerously, falling for her, falling for everything she represented, falling for the life they could have, and it frightened him more than anything had in years.


	12. Chapter 12

It had taken HUNK the better part of two weeks to track down Kennedy and his little tag-along. After crossing the border into England the man had laid low, keeping quiet, paying in cash, and leaving no paper trail. HUNK had to give the kid credit; he was good at what he did, as well as an excellent marksman and hand-to-hand combatant. But he was also predictably loyal, having moved in the same closed circles for years. So instead of scouring the English countryside when Kennedy had gone underground, HUNK had staked out who he knew would be the contact Leon was waiting on: Claire Redfield.

Not that HUNK could blame the man, the younger Redfield was an intelligent, cunning, feisty little piece of ass that any red-blooded male would want to sink himself into. She hadn't been that much easier to track down, but eventually the convenience of setting up a permanent base of operations had been their undoing. It would be interesting to know how much Wesker would pay to know the location of the Redfields, but HUNK had a feeling that for a matter so personal Wesker would want no help from someone like him. The man was very particular when it came to revenge.

Two days prior, Claire had made a phone call to Leon arranging a meeting in the tourist sea-side town of Boulogne-sur-Mer in northern France. Kennedy and his counterpart had arrived three hours ago on a bus with a handful of other English and American tourists looking very much the part of the young couple on honeymoon. From his vantage point up on the old stone city wall HUNK had been watching their every move.

Leon felt nervous, his guts twisting in his belly, his eyes scanning every face for something too-familiar or out of place. Today was the day; he'd hand off Lise and the sample and his part in all of this would be over. There would be a lot of questions to be answered when he got back to the States, but he was still in pretty high favor with the higher-ups. He should have been ecstatic to get back, but his breakfast turned to a hard rock in his stomach when he thought of returning to his usual routine. It wasn't the Government interrogations that had him concerned either, it was the bleak prospect of the rest of his probably unnaturally short, lonely life.

Neither of them had slept the night before, too anxious about the day to come to even sit still for long, constantly bumping into each other in the enclosed space of the room. At 3 a.m. they had finally fallen into bed together, anxieties spilling over into a physical need.

He had peeled off each scrap of her clothing with reverence, burning the sight, the smell, the feel, the taste into his memory. He had worshipped her, tasting and stroking her everywhere, swallowing every moan deep into his chest.

She had cupped his face in her hands, her thin fingers sunk into his hair, their eyes locked, as he tortured her with slow, even movements inside her. She had pleaded him with her body, arching harder, faster against him until he'd had to grip her hips in his powerful hands to keep her still. He wanted her to remember this, to think of him as the man who had both saved and destroyed her life, to know him as the best fuck she ever had. She'd come with an agonized groan that had gone right through his lungs, into his blood, her muscles clenching so tightly she practically milked the jizz right out of him.

Neither of them had said anything for a long time afterwards, laying in the dark, just listening to the other breathe, Leon's head pillowed on her soft breasts. Eventually the sun had come up and they'd packed up the few things they had and made for the bus stop.

They still had two hours before the drop off, but the coach only ran twice a day from the small town they had been staying in. To kill some time they had walked up to the old city, separated from the more modern developments by an ancient stone wall, unconsciously making their way closer to HUNK's position. As they veered off onto one of the quiet residential streets HUNK made his move, he couldn't afford to wait much longer before Leon's contacts arrived.

Leon kept moving, pulling them deeper into the twisted labyrinth of the streets; his instincts, which had always done right by him in the past, were going haywire. A light-haired man was strolling down the street towards them, dressed too casual to be a resident, yet walking too quickly to be a tourist. Leon was trying to lead them back to the lower level of the city, where there would be more people around, but it was hard to navigate with so many dead-end streets.

They came to an intersection and Leon stopped a moment to look around. The man who was following them was gone, melted into the growing shadows of the evening. Leon was about to step out into the street when he felt a sudden, sharp, searing pain in his leg. He looked down and clamped a hand over the growing red stain on his thigh.

He'd been shot.


	13. Chapter 13

Lise looked over at him as he let out a grunt of pain, her eyes going wide as they focused on the blood running down his leg,

"Run," he told her through half-clenched teeth, "I'll be right behind you." She opened her mouth to protest but he pushed her out onto the road, directing her to an alley on the other side of the street. He hobbled his way after her, ducking behind a garbage can and peering back over to where he had just been standing. His leg hurt, was gushing, but the bullet had apparently missed the bone. It throbbed, but it wasn't the worst he'd had. It just didn't really seem like a real mission without a gunshot or knife wound these days. It was hardly worth punching in for if he didn't end up in ICU afterwards.

"Leon,-" he cut her off, motioning for her to stay back as he tried to sight their attacker's location. They had been standing in broad daylight, why hadn't he just blown his head right off? There – a movement in the shrubbery, a faint glint of metal as the attacker moved off. Leon pulled the magnum out of its holster at his side. He would only get one shot, maybe two before they'd have to move; the un-silenced shots would attract all kinds of attention in a quiet neighbourhood like this. He fired two rounds at the next sign of movement and then shakily got to his feet, his right leg weak underneath him.

One hand grasped to her upper arm, half for support, half for direction he pulled her back towards the more modern part of the city. His thigh burned with every jarring step, but fortunately the streets were much emptier now that the tour buses had left for home. He searched the buildings, mostly shops and bakeries, for a fire escape that led to the roof.

They had to split up, his injured leg rendering him too slow and conspicuous. If their meeting had been compromised, and with the current condition of the attacker unknown it was likely that it had, it wouldn't do much good to send the sample off with Claire anyway. He stopped underneath one of the fire escape ladders, still a couple of feet too high for her to reach although he could brush it with his fingertips.

"Get up on my shoulders," he said crouching down, his leg screaming protest all the way up his spine.

"No way Leon. You need a doctor in case you hadn't noticed,"

"Just do it," the look he gave her, eyes lined with pain, mouth set in a hard line, was enough to convince her to comply without further protest. She stepped uncertainly up onto his shoulders and he grunted as he straightened his legs, gritting his teeth until they felt they would crack. Once she was up he used the last of his iron will to force his legs into a jump, grasping the lowest rung and pulling himself up onto the roof. Giving the area below a final survey he sat back against the wall, breathing hard, sweat pouring off of him. Lise was there beside him in a second, tearing the material away from his wound and searching through her bag to find something to help mop up some of the blood. He tried to protest but she snapped back at him, batting his hands away,

"Shut up Leon, just shut up," her hands were shaking as she pressed a clean sock to the back and front of his thigh, using her scarf, the one he'd bought for her, to secure them, "you're fucking _insane_ did you know that?"

"You have to go," he put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her frantic movements.

"Excuse me?"

"You have to go," he repeated fumbling painfully in his pocket for his cell phone and billfold, shoving both from his bloodstained hand to hers. She pushed them back at him.

"You must be in shock, because you are delusional if you think I'm leaving you like this." He grinned, finding the situation oddly humorous; after all they'd been through she'd been quietly obedient and it was this lovely moment she chose to rebel.

"Take the money, and the phone, and -"

"You could bleed to death!"

"Not for a while,"

"That guy could still be out there,"

"Which is exactly why you have to keep moving," he folded her fingers over the phone and the bills, his throat dry. "I have to know you're safe." So that was what it came down to in the end. It wasn't about the sample anymore, it was about the girl. It wasn't about saving hundreds of nameless people, it was just about saving one.

"Leon, I -" her eyes were starting to water, and she sniffed indelicately, "I can't."

"Get to the train station and get out of town. Wait until you're moving and call number three on the speed dial," the pain in his leg, half numbed with adrenaline before now, was starting to kick in with full force, making it harder to keep his voice level. "A woman will answer the phone, tell her what happened, but don't tell her where you are. Get somewhere safe and stay there and wait for a week. Call again after that and don't answer the phone unless it's that number."

"Please don't make me leave you like this," tears were spilling down her cheeks now, her heart breaking at the thought of leaving him up there alone, wounded, and vulnerable, never being able to see him again or know if he made it alright.

"You have to sweetheart. I'll be alright," he wiped a hand on his pants before cupping her face with it, unhappy that the end had come so quickly this way. He pulled her close, kissing her openly, wetly, trying to cram all the things he had thought he would have time to say, all the things he had felt, into on sloppy press of his lips. She kissed him back with just as much ferocity, breathless by the time she pulled away, stroking the sweat plastered hair off his forehead one last time.

"Just go, please," he winced and closed his eyes as an arc of pain shot through his body, turning his last words into a plea.

When he opened them again she was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

She had hit the ground running, never stopping until she reached the train station, buying a ticket for the next train, regardless of its destination, in her broken French and boarding as soon as she could. She'd dialed the number in the lavatory as soon as the train had started moving, explaining everything as quickly as she could to the female voice in the other end. After she'd hung up she'd spent the majority of the train ride sobbing quietly in the toilet, her jacket pressed to her face to muffle the sounds.

That had been ten days ago and she'd woken up exhausted the next morning in a tiny, dingy room in Paris, in the only hotel with an office she'd been able to find still open. Now she was in Calais, scribbling with a pen in a notebook on the table in front of her along with a mostly cold _café au lait_, her sunglasses pulled down over her eyes to protect her from the morning sun. She hardly looked up from her writing when Chris Redfield sat down across from her, but her body stiffened noticeably.

"Beautiful weather we're having," he crossed one leg over the other, motioning the waiter for a cup of coffee.

"Stunning," her voice was monotone in reply. She finished writing and looked up, laying the sunglasses on the table in front of her. Her eyes were dull, sunken from lack of sleep. The man in front of her had a broad, open face, the kind people inherently wanted to trust, to open up to, despite the bristly demeanor he practically exuded out of his pores. She didn't know his name, never would, didn't know if he was even one of Leon's contacts, but didn't care anymore. She just wanted this all to be over, one way or another. "How is he?"

"You know I can't answer that either way,"

"Yea," she shook her head, smiling weakly, "but it was worth a try."

"Care to join me for a walk?" She nodded and he threw a handful of change on the table, leaving his coffee untouched. They strolled around the streets, silence between them, and it reminded her painfully of the last time she'd spent the day walking around a French costal town. They reached a pier, one that looked out over the water, and she turned to him as he leaned his forearms against the barrier. She passed him the sample and the notebook, their hands hidden over the side of the rail, hers icy cold against his rough, warm ones.

"Everything I know is in that book," he tucked them both into his jacket, passing her a passport and a new wad of cash in exchange for the cell phone and her own blood-stained funds. He walked with her to the train station, his unfamiliar and huge presence somehow comforting after so many days alone and afraid.

"Someone will be waiting for you at the train station in Dover; an older couple, the woman will probably be wearing something bright pink."

"Great," she bit her lip, "well if you'll excuse me, I'm sure you're a really nice guy, and I appreciate everything you've done, but I hope I never see you again." He had to smirk at that,

"Likewise," he turned to leave, but she called out to him again.

"Hey, one more thing. If you ever see him around, just around or whatever, will you just tell him," she paused, lips quirking into a frown as she tried to condense everything she wanted to say into one relay-able message, "that I'll miss him?" Chris paused for a moment, biting the inside of his lip, his eyebrows furrowing behind the frames of his own sunglasses. What women saw in that shaggy-haired whelp was beyond him.

"Yea, if I see him around, I'll let him know."

"Thanks," she gave him a last half-hearted smile, and hitched up her bag, stepping onto the train and out of sight.

When Chris arrived back at the hideout Leon had dragged himself into the homey little kitchen and was staring blankly at a bowl of cereal in front of him, his leg propped up on a chair. He had spent the last week and a half miserable and confined to bed rest, having everything relayed to him second hand by Claire or Rebecca who had been brought in to patch him up.

"Here," Chris tossed his cell phone and what was left of his money on the table in front of him. The wad of cash was still fairly thick; most of it too bloody to be of use any longer.

"It's done then?"

"Yea," the older man walked past the table to the refrigerator where he pulled out a bottle of water, twisting off the cap and taking a swig, "as far as you're concerned anyway." Leon nodded, still pushing his cereal around in its bowl,

"How'd she look anyway?" Chris set his water down and stepped back over to the table, shrugging

"Honestly, what do you want me to say, Kennedy? That she looked like a million bucks? She looked like hell, what else do you expect?" Leon stood, shoving the chair out behind him, ignoring the pain that shot up his thigh. The two men had never been friends, tempers often rising to fisticuffs when they stood on opposite sides of an issue. "She asked about you."

"Yea, and what did you say?"

"Nothing. Would you have rather I told her that you're fine, but for some reason you sit around here on your ass all day feeling sorry for yourself?" Leon narrowed his eyes, he'd been looking for a fight since he woke up in a strange bed, his leg bandaged almost to the point of immobility, and his sorry excuse for a life totally out of his own control. "She asked me to pass along a message for her."

"And what's that?"

"That she'll miss you," Chris said earnestly, then chuckled, a low, hostile sound, "I don't know how you do it Kennedy, but you get 'em to fall for you every time."

"Jealous?"

"Hardly."

"Then what's your problem anyway?"

"I think you're just another asshole, parading around in a Boy Scout uniform."

"_I'm_ an asshole? Well I guess you would know, right?" They were almost nose to nose now, muscles tensed, waiting for the brawl that had been building for the past week.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Claire stepped into the kitchen, placing a bag of groceries on the counter, "you're both assholes, and I should know." She gave them each a look, "you," she pointed at her brother, "out. And you," she pointed at Leon and then at the chair behind him, "sit. Now." Chris rolled his eyes, grabbed his water and left, slamming the door shut behind him. Claire poured herself a glass of juice and sat down at the table across from him. She looked flushed, her skin rosy from walking out in the afternoon sun, but otherwise she was the same old Claire, hair pulled up in a ponytail, all decked out in her finest t-shirt and jeans. "What's the matter with you two? You sprinkle too much testosterone on your corn flakes this morning?"

"Don't look at me, you know I only take sugar on mine," he smiled weakly, but it didn't even reach the heavy dark circles under his eyes. She glanced at the cell phone and the money on the table.

"So, you've got it pretty bad, huh?"

"Got what?"

"Come on Leon, you've been moping around here for days. It's not like you."

"What else am I supposed to do with a banged up leg?"

"It's not that, and you know it," her voice was soft and she took one of his hands. Somewhere along the line, while he'd been busy going bump in the night, Claire Redfield had matured into a strong, kind-hearted, caring woman; tough as nails and one hell of a friend.

"I just can't get her out of my head," he scrubbed his free hand over his face, as if he could rub the sight of her out of his eyes.

"She must have been something,"

"She was –is- everything good I'm not," he chuckled, "which is a lot."

"Leon…"

"I felt like a human being again, for the first time in a long time. I felt _normal_, and I liked it, too much."

"So if you want her, go get her," she patted his hand, "I'll even make it easy on you and give you the address."

"And what does a guy like me have to offer someone like that?" his face twisted involuntarily into a sneer, "a life of worry? Of never knowing if I'm coming home alive?"

"So you'll condemn her to a life of never knowing you at all? Haven't you suffered enough? Both of you?"

"I can't do it; I'm in too deep now. The Feds aren't just going to let me go."

"You survived the hungry undead of Raccoon City, single-handedly rescued the President's daughter from a colony of parasitic maniacs, and God only knows what else. I think you can handle a few paper pushers in DC. You've done your time Leon, let some of those friends of yours in high places help you out for a change."

"Would you do it? Give up all this to settle down somewhere?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "maybe if I met the right person. Stranger things have happened. We never asked for this, we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I just can't," he shook his head. He had given up his shot at a normal life a long time ago.

"Just promise me you'll at least think about it," she stood and leaned over, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. "You deserve to be happy Leon," she said into his shoulder before straightening up again and stepping quietly from the room.

"Claire?" he stopped her as she reached the doorway, looking over his shoulder "you're still the best." It was a running line between them, left over from their brief but passionate time as a couple.

"I know," she answered brightly, ruffling his hair and then closing the door quietly behind her.

At least some things never change.


	15. Chapter 15

It had been eight months since the second incident in Spain. Leon had flown back to the States, healed up, and returned to active duty as soon as possible. He had taken some heat for what he'd done, Stuart's head had looked like it was going to pop right off where his freshly-pressed white collar bit into his fleshy neck, but Leon wasn't one to let ridicule bother him.

But as much as he had wanted them to, things wouldn't return to the way they had been. He was irritable and withdrawn, more so than usual, working himself to exhaustion just to be able to sleep. Living alone had never bothered him before, but he found himself craving human contact and hating himself for it. He hadn't realized how isolated he had become. He hadn't thought he'd had that kind of weakness anymore.

They had sent him on a mission to some sweltering city in the Middle East and he'd screwed it up, almost getting himself and another agent killed. They'd hauled him into a room and spent about four hours tearing him a few new assholes for that one, and in the aftermath, he'd found himself chained to a desk. He could feel his impressive survival skills rusting away by the day, his usefulness eroding along with his trigger finger.

"_It happens all the time,"_ Hunnigan had reassured him, _"guys are under a lot of pressure and they just freak out. Don't worry about it. Just take some time off and get your head screwed on straight again and you'll be fine."_

He had spent about three days at home before he realized it was getting him nowhere. On the morning of the fourth day, after a long fitful night, he'd gotten up, taken one long look at himself in the mirror, made a few important phone calls and booked a flight back to Europe.

He was sitting in a park in Leeds, just up the street from where he wanted to be, anxiety roiling in his stomach. It had been a simple enough call to Claire to find out all the information he needed and he had been able to hear her self-satisfied grin even over the phone. He felt selfish and weak, desperate, and hating the fact his happiness and ability to perform was so out of his own jurisdiction, so connected to this person he hardly even knew. And yet, he couldn't deny it; the results spoke for themselves. He stood, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his favorite jacket, his long legs carrying him too quickly to his destination.

Lise was spending that evening curled up with yet another trashy romance novel, borrowed from the used bookstore where she now found employment. They were total crap, but the stories were easy enough to get into, the endings always happy, and she found she still didn't have the stomach for anything too heavy.

She lived now in the basement flat of the sweet, older couple who had met her at the Dover train station. They had taken her under their wing, their own daughter killed years ago in the Raccoon City incident, and helped to fill the void of her own family. It was a bearable life, for the most part, although she found herself spending all too much time watching over her shoulder or day-dreaming of a time when she could return to her 'real' life.

A knock sounded at the door and she got up warily, still very suspicious of every car door slam, or stranger who let his eye linger just a little too long. The door opened a crack and she peeked out, her visitor's back facing her, his features lost to the back light of the setting sun.

"Can I help you?" he turned at the sound of her voice, a smile splitting his tired features, seeming to glow in the fading evening light.

"Hey," her paperback dropped to the floor, forgotten, as she stared at him, eyes wide and starting to water.

"Oh my God…" she took a step back and stumbled, but he moved quickly, catching her and pulling her tightly into his arms as he leaned back against the door. She gripped his shoulders, her hands shaking as she pressed her face to his chest. Leon could feel the hot wetness of tears through the material of his shirt. It was exactly the kind of welcome he had been expecting.

"Hey, it's okay now," he soothed, stroking a hand down her back, resting his head on top of hers.

"I thought you were dead," she swiped at her face, trying vainly to wipe away the tears that kept flowing against her will.

"I'm alright. I told you I'd be fine. Here," he tilted her face up with a finger under her chin, "let me look at you." She had changed in their months apart, her hair longer, the harsh line of the dye still visible, and her face more gaunt, her eyes more haunted. She was skinner, felt much frailer in his arms and he felt a stab of guilt. How many nights had she spent awake, worried about him, how many listless days living this lie? Still, even with her eyes red and swollen, and her cheeks flushed and wet, she was beautiful to him. "You look like hell," he scrubbed a tear away with the rough pad of his thumb. She gave him a shove on the chest,

"All thanks to you," her face was so close to his, her body cradled in his lap. He leaned forward and brushed her lips with his. Even that brief touch sent fire racing through his veins and he groaned as she pulled him closer, opening her mouth to him. She moved to straddle him, her hands everywhere as his slid up her shirt along the soft skin of her back. He had spent months yearning for the softness of her skin, never being able to find the same kind of release they had shared. She reached for the button of his jeans and he stopped her, finally tearing his mouth away from hers.

"Stop," he was breathless as she was, "I can't do this. Not like this."

"But I -" her face was a mask of confusion as he stood up, setting her back on her own feet. "What's wrong?"

"I just…" he trailed off lamely, "can I get a drink of water or something?" He had a lot of things he needed to get off his chest, a lot of questions for her, but if he let himself fall into bed with her again he wasn't sure if he would be able to survive any rejection she might offer. She nodded and led him to the kitchen, pouring him a glass of water from a container in the fridge which he gulped down quickly. She sat at the small kitchen table and he seated himself across from her, barely able to meet her questioning eyes. "I want to ask you to come back to D.C. with me."

"Leon…" she read the meaning underneath his words. He wasn't asking her to return to the States, to her old self, he was asking her to come back to be with him, as a permanent part of his life. He held up a hand to forestall her questions,

"Before you say anything, I want to tell you everything. It won't be easy for either of us, but I think you have a right to know." His expression was tense, his eyes distant as his mind already began to remember the horrors that had made him the man he was. A man who had survived on secrets and loneliness for too long. She nodded and reached for his hand across the table, cupping his large, callused fingers in her own delicate ones.

It took him an eternity to start speaking again, the words coming short and awkward at first as he explained how excited, how naïve and unprepared he had been driving into Raccoon City that last night. When he had described how lost and empty he'd felt afterwards, barely anchored to reality by Claire and Sherry, the words pouring out quickly by then, she had started to tear up again, pressing a hand to her mouth to keep quiet as he laid his fractured soul out on the table.

In the end, she wept for all the tragedies he'd lived through and had never been able to cry for himself, choosing instead to push himself harder, farther away from who he wanted to be. He carried her into the bedroom and made love to her like the last time; with a ragged sweetness and longing, now tempered with the joy of reunion. He held her face in his warm palms, his eyes locked to hers until the force of his orgasm had closed his tightly, leaving him exhausted. Leon gripped her tightly, her back to his front, curled into the aftermath.

"I need you," he whispered to the shell of her ear, "I've been through hell on Earth, too many times." He stroked a hand up over her curves, pressing a kiss to her neck, "this is the only piece of heaven I've found, and I need it." She shifted in his arms, pulling herself up on the pillow to look at him. "Please," his voice was a plea, ragged and anxious. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to beg for anything. She pressed a soft, smiling kiss to his lips, her whispered, affirmative answer barely audible even in the silence of the room, a vow for his ears only. He smiled widely, an expression that reached all the way up to his eyes. He pulled her close, burying himself in the sweet smell of her, and drifted to sleep, content.

For the first time since he had been twenty-one, Leon S. Kennedy, Raccoon City survivor and U.S. Government agent, had a dream of something other than blood, death, and decay:

A future.


End file.
